Pineapple Pancakes
by IgnitedBones
Summary: Juliet wakes up the morning after Bounty Hunters takes place to find an intruder in her kitchen. Madness ensues. Fluffy pancakes, Fluffy Shules. Drama! T for very mild language.
1. An Intruder

_(Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, they belong to USA network. Reviews are helpful! I tried to capture the dialogue style and interactions of the characters. This is my first fanfiction, so I hope you enjoy it!)_

The morning after the awkward "close talking" incident, Juliet's eyes opened with a snap at the light sound of movement in her kitchen. Her chest seemed to freeze up momentarily, and she was fleetingly glad that her detective training had made her at least mildly aware of small changes in her environment, even in sleep. A quick glance at the digital clock by her bed told her that it was a little after seven in the morning. She was vaguely aware of being tired, but the adrenaline rush was overriding all of her other feelings. Cautiously Juliet padded around the bed on the blue carpet to grab her cell phone and the gun stashed under her pillow. Praying that the phone wouldn't make any beeping noises, she quickly dialed Lassiter's number and hit send. He answered on the third ring, and she told him the situation as quietly as possible. With a brisk "I'm on my way," he hung up. Juliet crouched low behind the bed so that she was shielded from the door and listened intently. Whoever the intruder was, they were not taking too much care to be stealthy, she noted. And, curiously enough, judging by the soft, metallic clanging noises and a few repeated swooshes that indicated an opening of the refrigerator door, they had not yet left the kitchen. Her confusion reached even greater heights when she heard a few bars of "Accidentally in Love" whistled loudly with no reserve whatsoever. Who on earth….no. Surely not, she thought, as her eyebrows traveled up her forehead. Not even Shawn would be stupid enough to break into the home of someone with a license to carry a weapon and the knowledge of how to use it. But then she remembered the time when he chased an armed criminal while masquerading as a bounty hunter a few days ago. And then there was the time that he went undercover as a pop singer while really playing bodyguard to the insufferable judge of a television show, and then…..

Her mind spun out into the endless web of reckless things that Shawn had done until she came to the conclusion that no one but Shawn Spencer could be the intruder in her kitchen (who had now progressed to full-fledged operatic singing) at this moment. Rolling her eyes, Juliet replaced the gun back under her pillow, smoothed her hair, prepared her annoyed face, squared her shoulders, and stormed into the main room of her apartment. She had to fight to keep a straight face when she saw Shawn, spatula in one hand, pineapple slice in the other, chef's hat (complete with cow face and ears) perched jauntily on his brown hair. He looked up and grinned when he saw her, merrily waving his spatula-hand. Juliet took a deep breath, hoped that her features looked appropriately contorted with rage (rather than battling not to laugh), and started on him.

"Damn it, Spencer! I almost shot you. What the hell do you think you are doing, breaking into my apartment at seven a.m. on a Saturday?"

He grinned, unabashed. "Ah, so we are being formal," he said with a flourished bow. "Well then, O'Hara, I am making you breakfast. It's a Spencer specialty. Pineapple pancakes. Well, it's actually just my specialty, but, I am a Spencer, and therefore I think that calling these a Spencer specialty is not only appropriate but pleasantly alliterative. Alliterationish. Alliteritivational?—" he paused, musing. Juliet was staring, open-mouthed. Desperate to cling to some aspect of dignity, she rounded on him once more.

"Well, Shawn, as _sweet_ as that is, I still need to know how the hell you managed to break into my apartment."

"Ah, Juliet. I divined," he said, with much flourishing of the spatula, "that you keep your key under a rock beside the hedges on the right side of your apartment building door. Clever, I must say. Most prefer the conventional false-bottomed hedgehog or another small woodland animal statue. I, myself, go with the gnome." Juliet didn't know what to say. She was irritated, sure, that Shawn had broken into her apartment, but it was very hard for her to stay angry at anyone who was cooking her breakfast, let along while wearing a cow hat. Grumbling, she dragged a four-legged stool from the center island and plopped down next to where he was standing by the stove. The scent of freshly baked pancakes and the sweet aroma of pineapple made a surprisingly pleasant mixture, she thought. Just as Shawn was opening his mouth to speak again, the front door burst open. Juliet screeched and sent the stool flying sideways as she scrambled to her feet in alarm. Shawn held up both hands, spatula included, in a sign of surrender, but he quickly dropped them at the sight of Detective Lassiter, gun drawn, standing panting in the doorway. Juliet swore under her breath; she had been so surprised that the intruder was Shawn that she had forgotten to call Lassiter off. Fighting the urge to laugh at the enraged look on her partner's face, she stepped out from behind Shawn, and relinquished her death grip on his arm, which he rubbed vigorously.

"What the hell, Spencer?!" shouted Lassiter, still pointing the gun at Shawn, who seemed unconcerned.

"I seem to be getting that a lot this morning," he said. "Now Lassie, if you wanted a pancake, all you had to so was ask."

"Detective O'Hara!" said Lassiter, obviously extremely irritated. "Was this your idea of a prank? You woke me up at seven on a Saturday morning and said there was an intruder. Now I walk in here to find _Spencer_ of all people baking pancakes in a cow suit!" Lassiter looked on the verge of spontaneous combustion, so Juliet started to explain quickly. When she had finished, Lassiter's face still looked like a mottled tomato, but he had lowered and holstered his gun. Shawn then started to speak.

"First of all, Lassie, one does not _bake_ pancakes unless one is extremely foolish. I, Lassie, am a pancake master." He clasped his hands and bowed his torso once towards Juliet, who fought the ridiculous urge to giggle or blush. What was wrong with her? Shawn continued on: "Also, I am only wearing a cow hat. Not an entire body suit. Though, I will not pretend that I have not attempted to buy one on eBay several times. That is not the point. Either way, there are plenty of pineapple pancakes to go around. He picked up one from the steaming pile and tossed it at Lassiter, who managed to catch it reflexively in his hand.

"Damn it, Spencer, I don't need this crap! You need to seriously consider the word 'professionalism' or the next time I arrive here it will be with a patty wagon to take you downtown for breaking and entering charges," he fumed.

"A Patty wagon? Really, Lassie?" Shawn arched an eyebrow. "And by the way, the last time I considered the word 'professionalism' was on a fourth grade spelling test; that would be around the same time that you last considered the words 'flattering haircut'. Although now obviously I am reconsidering my last consideration of the word, and therefore I can truthfully say that today was the most recent date at which it was considered." He grinned at Juliet, who started to grin back before remembering herself and feigning a coughing fit. Lassiter stared at the pair of them and stormed out, still clutching the pancake in his fist. Shawn grabbed Juliet's hand and pulled her to the window, where they watched him stride to his car.

"Wait for it….wait for ittttt…." Shawn sing-songed, grinning. Sure enough, Lassiter stopped, glanced around, took a bite of the pancake, and chewed thoughtfully before hurriedly devouring the rest. "I told you they were good," Shawn said.

"I guess I'll just have to see for myself," said Juliet, now letting herself laugh.

"And by the way, Jules," said Shawn, massaging his arm again, "The next time you want to hold me, you don't have to invite Lassiter for the big show, all you have to do is ask." He grinned as her jaw dropped, and shoved a miniature pancake into her open mouth before she could protest.

**Author's Note: **I am not sure yet whether I will add more chapters to this one, or just create separate stories! I do like the idea of Shawn and Jules actually _going_ somewhere though, so I am inclined to add more to this one. And I desperately need to play around with writing Gus for my sanity. That's my idea of a treat, I guess. :P


	2. The Bump: An Art Form

When the pancake mess had finally been cleaned, (both aided and abetted by Shawn,) the two friends collapsed exhaustedly on Juliet's couch.

"Who _knew_ that cleaning could be so tiring?" said Shawn with an overdramatic yawn, shaking his head back and forth.

"It wouldn't have been tiring, Shawn, if you hadn't deliberately caused an almost full bag of flour to explode by slamming it on the edge of my counter top," said Juliet with a roll of her eyes.

"Come on, Jules. Being in a kitchen almost directly calls for a flour fight. Please tell me you watched Lizzie McGuire as a child."

"Lizzie McGuire didn't air until 2001, Shawn. And we were not having a flour fight, I was simply attempting to contain you and the bag within the kitchen while _you_ attempted to evade me and run amok through my apartment. There was no physical or verbal altercation, and therefore it was not a fight."

"Jules, if you wanted a physical altercation—"

"_Shawn_." He grinned and stretched his arms out with another huge yawn. Predictably, he casually attempted drop one over Juliet's shoulder, but she raised her own arm to stop his progress, somewhat painfully colliding their fists in midair.

"Altercation!" he yelled, a look of mock horror crossing his face. "Detective O'Hara, I understand your jealousy of the fist bumps shared by me and Gus. They are special, truly, but that is not the way to go about the _bump_." Juliet rolled her eyes, but was too lazy to stop his speech; it was useless anyways, he would never shut up. Shawn prattled on: "The bump is a beautiful art form that we have created, Jules, much like Michael-angle-oh and Pikacho created….things."

"I'm pretty sure you mean Michelangelo and Picasso, Shawn," Juliet interrupted.

"I've heard it both ways," he said unconcernedly, continuing in his speech. "First, raise the fist with attitude. _Attitude_, Jules!" When she made no movement but to look at him skeptically, he closed his hand over hers and lifted it up, probably, she thought, to place it at an appropriate "fist bumping" height. He let go, and she dropped it back down again. "Aw, Jules, come on! It will be over with before you can say Nudibranch. Although, you can say Nudibranch anyways if you want to, I won't stop you. Seeing as you're not talking, I could talk for the both of us again—"

"Oh no, I don't think so, Shawn," said Juliet, quickly raising her fist back up.

"That is really excellent, Jules. Now, rotate it to the side more so that it's facing me. You don't want to look at me, because that's uncool. Do you want to be Jayna from the Wonder Twins? I think not, Jules. Besides, purple is one of the very few colors that does not flatter me."

"Shawn."

"Fine, fine. Now look, extend the fist towards me, extend it, yes, there we go! Now look cool, Jules. For example, I purse my lips slightly and look down pensively to the opposite side. Gus prefers to raise his eyebrows and stare directly ahead in a complacent fashion. And now bummmmp!" he said triumphantly as their fists neatly collided. "I like that twist, Jules; You kind of looked up with a half-smirk. Very cool." He grinned.

"Thank you, Shawn," said Juliet sarcastically. "Now, if you have no more lessons for me at the present moment, I am going to go get changed into actual clothes." She rose as gracefully as she could from the sofa and crossed the floor towards her bedroom. "One more thing," she said, turning around apprehensively before he could speak, "At least _try _not to burn down my house in the five minutes that I am leaving you unsupervised." She told herself that she was kidding, but still, she might feel safer leaving a baby goat alone in her home than Shawn Spencer. Shawn raised his hand to his temple, a clear sign of a "vibe" as he liked to call it.

"Nope, I see no fires in the next five minutes. Give it six, maybe, and perhaps a visit from the Keebler elf."

"I thought you could only 'divine' the present, Shawn," said Juliet, remembering past conversations.

"That is true, Jules, but I don't see any fire-related intentions currently forming in my brain. The Keebler elf, however—"

"Goodbye, Shawn," she said, and closed the door to her bedroom.


	3. Purple Fuzzy Thing

Having just left Shawn on her couch, Juliet felt compelled to return as quickly as possible so as to minimize the damage to her living quarters. It wasn't that she didn't _trust_ Shawn, but knowing the psychic was in her apartment made her feel as if he was evaluating everything she owned. Not in a judgmental, materialistic way, but in a deeper kind of, well, _psychic_ way. She always got the feeling that Shawn noticed a lot more than everyone else, and not necessarily only because of his "third eye." She quickly opened her closet and evaluated the non-work clothing possibilities.

Green blouse, no, red long-sleeved, maybe, purple cardigan…no, he said he didn't like purple….no, he said purple didn't look good on him, not that he didn't _like_ it....why was that fact important? She shoved the knitted purple cardigan irritably to the side. It was always getting fuzzy stuff all over her anyways when she wore it; She even noticed some on her pajamas from just touching it. Juliet brushed them off, tucked back her hair and sighed. It wasn't really all that important; it was just Shawn in her living room, after all. She saw him almost every day at work. She determinedly seized and subsequently donned the red long-sleeved shirt, a pair of cute, light-wash jeans, and her blue and white striped ballet flats. Then, brushing her hair into long waves and securing it with a red and white polka-dotted headband, she turned on her heel and marched confidently back through her bedroom door to the living room.

Shawn was still sitting on the couch where she had left him, which surprised her for some reason. She had half expected him to be looking through all of her photo albums or swinging from a curtain-rod.

"Hey, Jules!" he greeted her jovially. "The Keebler elf called. Or maybe that was a certain head detective. Either way, _we_ have a case!"

"What? On a Saturday? Really?" Juliet moaned. After the debacle with Dwayne Tancana and Byrd the bounty hunter yesterday, she just wanted a few days off. And besides, she just changed. Unnervingly as per usual, Shawn seemed to have read her mind.

"Lassie says not to get dressed for work; we need to be incog_nito _for this one. Which is totally _sweet._ Gus has always wanted to go undercover."

"You have gone undercover, Shawn, on multiple occasions," Juliet reminded him.

"Yes, but my disguise is always marginally more awesome than Gus's. Which makes him feel sad. Hope you don't mind, by the way, I told him to meet us here. We're all going to head over together."

"That's fine, Shawn. I've always wanted all of my co-workers to know exactly where I live," she said, even though she really wasn't irritated.

"I detect sarcasm," said Shawn, who had once again raised his hand to his temple. "On the plus side, Jules, both of us knowing where you live means that you will see a lot more of me."

"And why is that, exactly?" she asked.

"Have you ever heard of uninvited dinner guests? Because both me _and _Gus know your address now, the chances of this happening to you are now doubled." She rolled her eyes.

"Shawn, you can't just waltz in here any time," she said. Why did he have to be so irritating? She hoped he would never stop being irritating. Even though she would never, ever admit that to anyone else. Ever.

"Aw, Jules, I know. You have dinner with your parents on the second Thursday of every month. I would never bother you during dinner with the fam. Unless, of course, we had a special announcement to make to them, in which case—"

The loud chime of the doorbell interrupted Shawn's speech, and Juliet quickly rushed to answer it, hoping he hadn't noticed her blush at this last comment. _Why _was she so stupid? Her mind was behaving like the eighth grade girl Shawn had personified her as during their first meeting. Juliet opened the door to see Gus standing there in his classic "weekend outfit" of a striped green button-down shirt and blue jeans.

"Hello, Juliet," he said, looking awkward. "Is it okay if I…come inside?"

"Of course it is, Gus. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Oh. No reason whatsoever, Juliet." He bobbed nervously on her doorstep, still not making a move to come in. Juliet heard Shawn approach from behind her.

"Gus! Buddy! Come on in. Lassie says we have a victim at a the mini golf course on Calle Camarada. I also have been wanting to work on my putt putt skills," he said with mock seriousness. Gus took a tentative step in the door.

"Gus. Don't be a dawdling marmoset. We have a case!"

"I just didn't want to intrude in case you two were…_busy_. Shawn said on the phone that I needed to make sure to knock first." Everything suddenly clicked.

"SHAWN." She rounded on him furiously. "_What _exactly did you tell him?"

"Only that you had stripped and changed into something red in the bedroom, there was a physical altercation, slightly heated words, and the involvement of a pineapple." He looked completely unabashed. Gus was concentrating very hard on a point above Juliet's head.

"Well, I guess that is _technically_ true," said Juliet, hitting Shawn in the stomach with her purse. "I changed out of my pajamas into a red shirt _without _Shawn anywhere in the vicinity, I hit his arm when he tried to pull a yawning arm drape on me, I admonished him for almost covering my apartment with flour, and he made me pineapple pancakes."

"You're a creep, Shawn. No wonder my parent's don't like you."

"Your parents love me, Gus. And yes, I am a creep. Luckily, I have had more girlfriends than the both of you put together."

"I haven't had any girlfriends, Shawn," said Juliet.

"Exactly," he responded. "Now, who's up for some mini golf? Gus is."

With that he turned and marched out the door, leaving Gus and Juliet standing behind.

"I have had girlfriends, Juliet," said Gus awkwardly. "Many, many girlfriends." He quickly made an angry face in Shawn's direction.

"I believe you, Gus," she said sympathetically and followed him out the door. Gus clambered into his small blue company car, and Juliet opened the door of her own silver sedan.

"Oh hey, Jules?" Shawn called from his motorcycle. Juliet paused with one foot in her car.

"What, Shawn?" she asked.

"I actually do like that purple thing you considered wearing. And a lint roller will take care of the fuzzies. I use one on Gus's footie pajamas all the time." With that he donned his helmet and sped off, leaving an open-mouthed Juliet in his wake.

"I haven't worn those since the seventh grade, Shawn!" came the angry yell from behind her.

* * *

**Thank you** for the reviews! I am glad you all like the story, and I can't believe it was reviewed so fast! I am trying to add more chapters as quickly as possible.


	4. Lilypad Extortion

On the way to the golf course, Juliet took several calming breaths. What was it about Shawn that made her feel flustered all the time? She sighed. Poor Gus. How long had he been putting up with this now? At least Gus didn't have to deal with a strange quasi-flirtatious relationship with him all the time. At least she hoped not. Juliet frowned and tried to pay attention to the road. She glanced in the right mirror; well within the lines. Rearview mirror, all good. Left mirror; Shawn on his motorcycle, staring directly at her. She didn't know whether to laugh or run him off of the road.

"Watch the road!" she yelled at him, even though there was no way he could hear her. She shook her head. The drive to the golf course wasn't very long from her apartment, and soon she was pulling onto the crunchy gravel of the parking lot. There weren't many other cars there, and curiously enough, she didn't see any of the squad cars or forensics guys either.

"Incognito, Jules," said Shawn as he pulled up and dismounted the motorcycle smoothly to the left of her parked car. He pulled off his helmet and ruffled his hair casually, waving to Gus as he pulled up to the right of her sedan in what Juliet had come to privately refer to as the blueberrymobile. Gus let out a long, low whistle and stepped out of the car.

"I know, Gus. I just look that good. Like James Potter, stepping off of a broomstick after a hard-fought game of Quibblitch." He gazed into the sky in an apparent show of majesty.

"I wasn't whistling at you, Shawn. I was whistling at my gas tank. I filled it yesterday, and it's almost on empty! This is a company car, Shawn. And fuel efficient. And it's Quidditch, not Quibblitch."

"I've heard it both ways. And that's tough, dude, really." He gave Gus a manly clap on the back, and the three of them set off for the mini golf course.

"The chief told me to…pay for a game for two. Gus, you are to remain in the shrubbery; I brought my Sports Illustrated binoculars."

"Why do I have to hide in the bushes, Shawn? _You _hide in the bushes. Juliet and I will play."

"Because Burton Bond sounds much better than Shawn Bond, as much as I hate to say it, dude. Plus, I told you that my putt-puttery needs work. But you, buddy. Look at you. With your…striped green shirt and jeans. You're practically 007, Gus. We can even have a distress call. I say 'Caw! Caw!' and you will respond with 'The raven caws only at midnight. Dusk is for the rooster's cackle.' Okay?" Juliet rolled her eyes, remembering this particular secret phrase.

"You really have the binoculars?" said Gus, looking torn.

"Of course, Buddy," said Shawn, producing them from his pocket. "Go get 'em." They watched Gus sneak stealthily behind a stand of thick green hedges.

"Did the chief really say to—" started Juliet.

"Jules. Do you really think I would banish my best friend to a patch of greenery just to get some alone time with you? Come on. I would be much more creative than that. Clearly you have not heard of the great Orange Julius Shakira debacle of '03."

"Do I even want to know?" she asked tentatively.

"Honestly? Absolutely not."

"I'll take your word for it," she laughed. The two of them paid for clubs and started out on the course. "So what did the chief say to look for?" Juliet asked, trying to be an inconspicuous golfer.

"She said to look for…any golf course skullduggery. Skullgolfery. Golfduggery? There is a koi in the decorative pond here that is wanted on several counts of lily-pad extortion. And the shoot-the-ball-through-the-windmill hole may well be rigged."

"Seriously, Shawn. What are we looking for?" she asked, rolling her eyes but smiling.

"Well, I am looking at you, whereas you seem to be focusing on getting your blue golf-ball into that little plastic hole." A sudden suspicion arose inside of her, but she decided to give it at least half the course to decide if she was right. She didn't want to falsely accuse on this one; she would never hear the end of the witty comments. Finally, by hole 10, she decided to test her now formulated idea.

"Oh, shoot. Shawn, can I see your cell phone for a minute? I was supposed to call my mother's physical therapist by one, and it's almost 12:45. I left my phone at the apartment!"

"Sure, he said," handing her the phone from his pocket. A few seconds of recent call searching was all she needed to confirm her intuition.

"Shawn. _Spencer_! This is not a case, this is a date! You dirty little liar!" He grinned, unconcerned as always. Was Shawn ever concerned by anything? Suddenly, the realization of what was happening hit her. She was on a date with Shawn Spencer. At a golf course. With…Gus?

"Why is Gus here?" she asked, confused.

"Honestly? So I can do this." Shawn walked close to the bushes and cried "Caw! Caw!" A responding whisper of "The raven crows only at midnight. Dusk is for the rooster's cackle," came from behind the shrubbery. Several small children screamed and ran towards their parents. "False alarm, buddy. Keep up the good work," said Shawn. Juliet rolled her eyes. She made a mental note to tell Shawn that if she had to have corrective eye surgery before age 40, it was his fault. But there were more pressing matters at hand.

"Shawn. I think you are forgetting something," she said, waving the cell phone in front of him. He made a swipe for it, but she danced out of his way. "Nice try. Come and get it!" she called, waltzing towards the large pond in the center of the course and holding it threateningly over the water. Shawn approached cautiously, holding his hands up in surrender as if negotiating a hostage situation. Good. She should be the one in control of the situation for once.

"Aw, come on, Jules. It's not like you would have given me a chance any other way….." he trailed off, suddenly staring at her forehead in alarm.

"Shawn?" she asked, concerned, waving her hand in front of her face. Everything from that point on was a blur. Shawn was ten feet away, and then suddenly he was directly in front of her, and then he had collided with her, and there was a lot of noise; a huge splash, a resounding bang. Juliet rose up from the small pond into which Shawn had just thrown both of them and gasped for air, only to be pulled back down again.

"Jules, stay _low_!" a sopping wet Shawn commanded her.

"What?! Shawn, _what_ did you just _do_?!" she demanded, wringing out her hair.

"Other than tackle you into a koi pond? I just saved your life," he responded, looking shaken.

"Shawn, what the hell are you talking about?" she asked, even more confused now. Was this his idea of a joke? She wasn't laughing.

"Unless someone is pretty accurate with a long distance harmless laser pen, which I happen to be, but that isn't the point, and unless that huge bang was all in my imagination, then you just got shot at, Jules," he said. She felt a look of terror creep up on her face.

"That's what you were staring at on my forehead?" she asked, horrified. He nodded, still staying low. Suddenly, a new and sickening thought came to mind. "Shawn….where is Gus?" she asked nervously.

"He's okay; I can see him behind the bushes still, bless his heart. He made hand motions that psychically indicated to me that he was calling Lassie. But he also could have said that he was feeling gassy. It's really up for interpretation, I guess, depending on many factors that…" He continued to talk, but Juliet could tell he was completely freaked out and grasping at straws. This was how Shawn kept it together, she had come to realize; he just spewed ridiculousness and tried not to think about anything too hard. After thirty more seconds of his mindless prattle, in which she distinctly heard the words "sheep husbandry," "aloe mask," and "prawn," Juliet decided that it was time for action.

"Shawn."

"What?"

"Shut up." And then she was hugging him, and he hugged back. She realized there, dripping wet and with a fat orange koi interestingly investigating her left leg, that she would be okay. They would be okay.


End file.
